


Ripcord

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Forgiveness, M/M, Phone Calls, Spoilers for 6.06, extra scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 10:31:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3206009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and El's phone call. (A missing scene from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3176998">Parachute</a>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ripcord

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaiaC](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=MaiaC).
  * Inspired by [Parachute](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176998) by [china_shop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop). 



> Many thanks to mergatrude for beta. <3

After Neal's parting shot, there was no way Peter was going back to sleep. It was typical of Caffrey to take a rebuke as an opportunity to tweak him, and zero chance Neal was sincere. But if he was…

Peter growled and paced his hotel room, arguing with himself: on the one hand, desperate to follow Neal, track him down before he disappeared again, at least to get his damned phone number; and on the other hand, remembering every sleepless night of regrets and self-reproach before they'd found out Neal's death had been a con. And how the overwhelming relief at the discovery had been swiftly undercut by a different kind of loss, the realization that their partnership hadn't meant as much to Neal as it had to Peter and El. That the Neal they loved—passionate and loyal and trustworthy—had never existed. If he had, he wouldn't have left like that.

The pain of that realization still burned, even now.

Peter sent El an email ( _Call me if you get this._ ) and went to the window to look down at the empty city street. Neal hadn't known Peter and El's plan. He'd believed the baby would close off even the faintest possibility. 

But excuses could never make up for the long months of grief, the hollowness when there should have been only joy and new life.

Peter's phone rang on the nightstand and he snatched it up. "Hey, hon."

"Hey, hon. What's going on?" She sounded wide awake despite the late hour, which probably meant Neal Mitchell had woken her a while ago and she'd only just checked her email.

Peter cleared his throat. "I just saw Neal."

"Which Neal? Our Neal?"

"Neal Caffrey," said Peter. "Except he was going by Harry Longabaugh. He's here. Or he was."

"In Montreal?"

"At the conference," said Peter. "Can you believe his nerve?"

"Oh, honey." El's voice softened, took on a wistful note. "How's he doing? Is he okay? Is he still—"

"Same old Caffrey," said Peter, gruffly. "I don't think he has any idea what he put us through."

"He never did," said El. "So, wait, he's attending an international law enforcement conference under an assumed name? That's a lot of trouble to go to. He must have really wanted to see you."

"He even tracked me down at my hotel, but I showed him the door."

El was quiet for a moment. "You know one day you're going to have to forgive him," she said finally. "You'll always regret it if you don't."

"What about you?"

"I forgave him as soon as we figured out why he did it, you know that. He was trying to protect us."

"Lying to me is never protecting me," said Peter, but the words were automatic. There was no heat behind them now. 

El was distracted. "Wait, what alias did you say he was using?"

"Harry Longabaugh. B-A-U-G-H. Why?"

There was a frown in El's voice. "I don't know, I just feel like I've heard it before. Wait a minute." The faint sound of typing. "Oh."

"What?" Peter would have looked it up on his phone, but he didn't want to interrupt their call. "What is it?"

"Harry Alonzo Longabaugh is the name of the real Sundance Kid," said El. "I guess he still thinks you're partners. Or he wants to."

Peter's throat closed up. "Hon. Tell me the truth: is it too late? Do you still want to be Etta Place?"

"It's not too late for me," she said. "If he's still our Neal, and if you can forgive him, it will never be too late."

"You said it yourself," said Peter, suddenly conscious of the enormity of what they were deciding. Itching to make it real before the opportunity slipped away—if it hadn't already. He went to his suitcase and rummaged wildly for his sweatpants, started pulling them on one-handed. "I have to forgive him sometime."

"Well, then," said El. "What are you waiting for?"

"I love you." Peter closed his eyes and pictured her, sleepy with her hair pulled back and Mitch in his cot beside her. "So much."

"And I love you. Whatever happens, we can handle it," she said, warm and sure and hopeful. "Now go and find him and bring him home."

"Yes, ma'am."

She laughed. "I can't believe this is really happening."

"Nothing's happened yet," said Peter, to steady them both. "For all I know, he's not even in Montreal anymore."

"Then you'd better get moving," said El. "I wish I was there. Keep me posted."

"Every step of the way." Peter paused with his hand on the door. It was too late to be walking down the hallway talking on his phone, but he had to ask before he hung up, "Everything's okay with you two?"

"Everything's fine, and about to get even better." El was smiling now. "Go."

Peter hung up, tucked his phone in his pocket and went.

 

END


End file.
